


a place to call my own

by icarusandtheson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rachel Lives, Angst, Class Differences, Complicated Relationships, Daddy Issues, F/M, M/M, Pining, Rachel/George is mild, Relationship of Convenience, Requited Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, brief appearance by jefferson, mother-son dynamics, pre- Alex/George, sugar daddy elements, to a certain degree, unintentionally so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusandtheson/pseuds/icarusandtheson
Summary: Even before coming to America, Alexander Hamilton and his mother, Rachel, have had it rough. When Rachel starts dating George Washington, a successful lawyer who is not only good to her but also to her son, she's sure their luck is changing. But on a visit to George's law firm, Alex is forced to face some uncomfortable realizations about his place in this new world, and George's place in his.





	a place to call my own

**Author's Note:**

> For my beleaguered beta Hobbes, always.

“Stop fidgeting,” Rachel mutters, tugging on Alex’s tie.

“I’m not, let me get ready.”

“You are. Squirming like a kitten, it’s distracting. We need to make you presentable, you’re a disaster.”

Alex snorts. “Amazingly, I’m an adult who is capable of getting ready for work. Besides, what happened to me being your perfect, beautiful child?”

“At home, you’re my perfect, beautiful child. At a downtown law firm, you’re the son of an unmarried immigrant who may or may not be after the boss’ fortune.”

“You are after George’s fortune,” Alex reminds her, yelping when she snatches the hairbrush from his hand to smack him with it. “It’s true!”

“It is _not_ true.” Rachel huffs, pushing her curls back with her free hand. “His money is helpful, but it’s not the only reason I’m dating him.”

“You think he’s boring.”

Rachel shrugs. “Maybe we could use a little bit of boring, no?”

An unpleasant silence falls between them. Alex focuses on his reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying not to backslide into memories almost a decade old. Slamming doors, drunken shouting, anxiety curled like a frightened animal in his chest. Then silence. Absence, that didn’t feel much like absence, after ten years in the making.

Rachel smooths the brush over his hair, slow and methodic and intimately familiar. He knows it’s not just James she’s thinking of, and though he doesn’t know much about his mother’s first husband, he realizes that James Hamilton was by far the kinder of the two.

“Yeah,” Alex says quietly. “Maybe boring is good.”

Rachel smiles, only a little forced. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about any of that. You just have to make a good first impression with his co-workers.”

“No pressure,” Alex mutters.

“You’ll be fine.”

“You already got it out of the way at the Christmas party when they were all drunk. I have to face the judgmental rich assholes _sober_.”

She rolls her eyes. “As long as you don’t call them assholes, you won’t have any problems. You’re a very charming boy, Alexander.”

“Whatever. I’m punching Thomas Jefferson in the jaw when I meet him.”

“You will _not_.”

“He called you a whore!”

Rachel scoffs. “He wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. And he didn’t say it exactly like that.”

Alex jerks his head to glare at her instead of her reflection. “He said you were sleeping with George to get a green card!”

Rachel shakes her head in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter what he says. And didn’t you just say something similar?”

Alex flushes uncomfortably. “Ma, I was joking!”

“I know,” Rachel assures him, stroking his head. “But your jokes and his remarks come from the same little bit of truth. It’s very convenient, that a powerful man took interest in me.” She tugs on a lock of Alex’s hair, smiling softly. “In us, I should say.”

Alex stares down into the sink, his stomach tightening into a painful knot before a deep breath releases it. “He’s just being nice so you like him. Not that I’m complaining, nepotism makes the world go ‘round, which is fucking disgusting but --”

“But you have student loans to pay.”

Alex sighs, anger giving way to familiar longing. “And rent.”

“And a career to start.”

“And a mansion to buy for us,” he finishes, familiar as a poem. He sighs, leaning back against her in mock-sadness. “Not that you need it anymore, you’re going to marry George and have an _estate_.”

“If I marry George, it will be your estate someday.”

“Only if you don’t have babies.”

Rachel pulls a face. “One is enough, thank you. I’m too old to go through all that again.” She pushes at his shoulder playfully. “What would you do if you had to share me? I’d have two crying babies on my hands, not one.”

“Hey!”

They keep up the steady banter throughout the rest of the process, pausing to ask for or offer commentary on Alex’s wardrobe. His newly expanded wardrobe, thanks to George’s shiny black card wielded like a sword in Rachel’s hand. Alex has never had this many clothes in his life, and he pulled out a pair of black dress pants and a dress shirt this morning before the sight could fill him with too much delight or panic.

He always thought he would be buying these things with his own money, once he finished law school and landed a job. Having it already, bought with money that isn’t his… he’s not sure how he feels about it. But he’s in no position to refuse right now, even if he’s tallied up all the receipt totals in his notebook in at least the hope of paying George back someday.

 “The green vest,” Rachel says, interrupting his train of thought. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

“Shouldn’t I wear a blazer, at least?”

“Too formal. You’re young, no need to dress like you’re forty.”

“If George disapproves, I’m blaming you.”

“Send him to me, I’ll straighten out.” She smirks, and Alex grimaces in response.

“Ma, gross.”

She swats his arm. “Not what I meant. You know we’re taking it slow.”

“Because you think he’s boring.”

“ _Because_ I tend to rush into things, and I want to make sure this is right.”

“Considering he’s probably blown a couple grand on us already, I’m pretty surprised.”

He expects her to laugh, but his mother’s face is troubled. “He doesn’t have the right to anything, just because he bought us nice things. You know that’s not how a healthy relationship works, right?”

Alex scoffs. “Ma, I was just --”

“I know you’re focused on school and your career right now, but eventually --”

Alex’s phone goes off, effectively ending _that_ conversation, and Alex groans with relief as he checks the text. “God bless George Washington.”

Rachel snorts, then leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “Go on, then. Behave.”

“Always do.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” she says drily.

“I love you too.”

Her laughter follows him out of the apartment, and he can’t help the answering smile that blooms on his face. He casts a longing look toward the _Out of Order_ sign slapped onto the elevator before pushing his way out onto the stairwell. He takes the steps two at a time, not wanting to keep George waiting. As he descends, the easy excitement from earlier starts to curdle into anxiety. The last thing he wants is to fuck up a good thing by making a fool out of himself, and George by extension.

He knows he doesn’t belong in this world, George’s world. His mom got him a free pass, but he knows that just means he’ll have to work that much harder to prove himself to these people.

He reaches the lobby, and as he pushes open the front doors, a familiar black Mercedes parked out front. Alex takes a breath, straightening up. George is reading the newspaper, but looks up as Alex approaches, a bright grin crossing his face as he raises a hand in greeting.

Alex waves back, securing a convincing enough smile on his face as he takes a moment to deal with the complicated mess of feelings that flow through him at the sight of this man, at the feel of that thousand-watt smile focused on him. He indulges for a moment, and then pushes it all to the back of his mind. He’s gotten good at compartmentalizing, these last few months.

George unlocks the door, and Alex slips into the passenger seat. “Sorry, elevator’s still busted.”

“You’re fine,” George assures him, eyeing the building disapprovingly. “They should really get that fixed, though.”

Alex shrugs. “We’ve complained a bunch of times, you know how it is.”

“Maybe I’ll swing by the management office when I have some time,” George muses.

“If you bully them into making it a five-star hotel, we won’t be able to afford rent,” Alex jokes.

George huffs a laugh, but there’s a look in his eye that makes Alex think he won’t let the idea go so easily. He looks over as he starts the car, eyebrows raising. “Those are the new clothes, right?”

Alex shoves his hands into his pockets, only to remove them right away. Something about George makes him feel like he’s always under inspection. “Yeah. Do I look okay?”

George smiles warmly, and Alex feels it all the way down to his bones. “You look wonderful, son.”

Alex huffs a laugh, but his toes curl in his shoes at the compliment. “Well, you bought them, so I’m glad you think so.” He shifts in his seat, looking up at George seriously. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

George’s smile turns wry, and for a moment his eyes look almost sad. “I didn’t do anything. I just gave your mother my credit card.”

“Yeah, I guess you have enough, right? What’s a couple hundred dollars on clothes?” He grimaces the moment the words are out, stomach dropping as George’s expression does.

“I didn’t mean --”

“No, I know, I didn’t --”

They both stop talking. George regards him for a long moment, expression unreadable. “Why do I always end up saying the wrong thing to you?” he wonders, and that would be an attack from anyone else, but from George? It’s painfully genuine. Like everything else about this man.

“You don’t. I just don’t know when to shut up.”

“You’re not a charity case to me, Alex.”

“I know.” George made that clear in the early days, when Alex was sure they were just a bored rich man’s pet project and his mother could barely convince him to give George a chance.

“I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable about the clothes, because it’s not a big deal.”

“I know,” Alex repeats, offering a small smile.

George visibly relaxes, relief clear on his face. _Probably worried Ma would chew him out for upsetting me_ , Alex thinks, only for guilt to follow the thought immediately. This man has been nothing but kind to him, well beyond what would pass for good boyfriend material, even with his over-protective mother. George isn’t James. There’s no score to settle here, no expectations to fail over and over again.

“Alright. As long as you know.” George rests a broad hand on Alex’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat as the road opens up in front of them. “Let’s go.”

\---------

Half the day passes uneventfully. George introduces him around to coworkers as “Rachel’s son,” and for the most part, that brings up smiles and praise for his mother. A few people send George knowing looks, but when Alex bristles, George squeezes his shoulder in a way that feels more comforting than warning.

They’ve been working comfortably for about an hour, Alex alternating between browsing old case files and taking notes on what George could tell him about current ones, when someone raps at the door.

George looks up from his desk, brows raising as he pulls his glasses off. “Yes, Thomas?”

Alex tenses, finishing off his sentence with stiff fingers.

“I heard I’d missed the chance to welcome our newest recruit. Am I interrupting?”

For a hopeful moment, Alex thinks George is going to say yes, but after a moment he shakes his head. “Of course not.” He moves to stand, and Alex turns to face the doorway with as pleasant an expression as he can fake. “Alexander, this is Thomas Jefferson. Thomas, this is Alexander Hamilton.”

Jefferson raises an eyebrow. “Hamilton? I thought he was Rachel’s son?”

“I am,” Alex says, before Jefferson can talk over his head anymore. “I have my father’s last name.” _Which you definitely knew, you slimy fucker. You just wanted me to say it._

“Of course, my mistake.” Jefferson smiles charmingly, and Alex returns it close-lipped, teeth grinding. He shakes the hand Jefferson offers, his grip firm.

Jefferson turns to George, realization crosses his face. “Sir, Knox mentioned he was looking for you? Something about the Lee case? I thought I should let you know as soon as possible.”

George frowns. “Is he in his office?”

“Last I saw, he was getting coffee, sir.”

George sighs. “Alright. Thank you, Thomas.” He sends Alex a worried look, clearly picking up on the tension in the room. “I’ll only be a moment. Alexander?”

“Go ahead, I’ll be here.” Rationally, he knows the smart thing to do would to be follow George out to whatever “emergency” Jefferson is sending him to. But Jefferson looks between them with cool amusement, and Alex is loathe to give him the satisfaction of watching Alex scurry off after George like a child.

“Your mother must be very proud,” Jefferson drawls once George has left. “Such a step up for your family, to come to America and already have such strong connections.”

Alex so badly wants to deliver on that promised punch, but he promised. He swallows down his shame, his fury, and nods tightly. “I suppose so, sir.”

“She’s a very charming woman.”

“She is.”

“Washington certainly seems to thinks so.”

Alex says nothing.

“I hope you realize what a privilege it is to be here,” Jefferson continues. “Most people work for years without seeing the inside of such a successful firm, and here you are, barely out of high school.”

“I’m very lucky,” Alex replies, clipped. He glances towards the door, willing George to come back before Alex starts an incident in his office.

“A bit of advice? Try not to get used to it. Favors are no substitute for hard work, Hamilton.”

“I know all about hard work,” Alex mutters, turning back to the papers on the desk.

“I’m sure you do,” Jefferson agrees, a lilt in his voice that sets Alex’s teeth on edge. A few moments pass in strained silence, and Alex refuses to break it. He’d rather Jefferson tell George he’s rude and standoffish than get into a fistfight with the man.

Jefferson hums under his breath. “You should remember that Daddy’s influence only extends so far.”

Alex jolts slightly in his seat, indignation and hot shame flooding him. He looks back up at Jefferson, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at Alex. “ _Are_ you his bastard? I don’t see a scrap of resemblance.”

“You arrogant son of a _bitch_ ,” Alex snarls, pushing himself to his feet and stepping to face Jefferson. He doesn’t have a rational explanation for the fury pulsing through him right now, only that he feels sick to his fucking stomach and the only cure he can think of is punching Jefferson’s perfect teeth in.

“What is going on here?” George asks, pushing the door open. “Alexander?”

Alex flinches at the sound of his name, glaring out the window. Any sense of safety George’s presence brings is drowned out by the shame of playing right into Jefferson’s hand.  

“We were just talking,” Jefferson says, playing at confusion. “It seems that I hit a nerve.”

“Talking,” George repeats, staring right at Alex. Alex can’t meet his eyes, won’t. “Right. Thomas, I forwarded you the documents Greene sent to me this morning about Lee. Look them over with Knox, please.”  

“Sir, really, a bit of respect --” Jefferson protests, gesturing at Alex.

“Jefferson,” George interrupts, his voice quiet but firm. “Enough.”

Jefferson doesn’t physically back up, but it’s a near thing. Alex doesn’t blame him -- George’s expression is thunderous, and he’s shifted his weight forward in a way that puts Alex behind him. Alex’s isn’t sure whether to be offended at the implication he can’t protect himself, or grateful for George having his back. He settles somewhere in the middle, his skin too-tight and his stomach clenching with shame and anger and emotions he refuses to put a name to.

“Easy, there.” Jefferson spreads his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I was only teasing, Washington. He’ll need a thicker skin than that if he’s going into law.”

“Get back to work.”

Jefferson’s expression twists like he’s about to argue, but he seems to think better of it. “Yes, sir.”

He strides out of the room, leaving George and Alex alone in the silence.

“I could have taken him,” Alex mutters, trying not to wither under the disapproving look that earns him.

George sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Jefferson is… difficult. You shouldn’t have let him get to you --”

Alex starts as betrayal burns through him, hot and stinging like a slap. He thought George was on his side, here. Stupid of him to forget that no one ever is, that he has to make his own way. “That is _bullshit_!”

“Language,” George snaps, and Alex’s mouth clicks shut without his permission. “Let me finish. You shouldn’t have let him get to you, but he had no right to speak to you like that, either.”

Alex frowns, caught between self-defense and relief. “So, you’re not mad?”

“I’m not _happy_ , but what’s done is done.”

Somehow, the disapproval smarts more than shouting would. “I’m sorry,” Alex says tightly.

George snorts. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m sorry I made you look bad in front of someone you work with.”

“It’s alright, Alex.” But he looks exhausted, and all Alex can see is James’ face whenever Alex couldn’t do something right, and suddenly he’s ten instead of twenty--

“He called Ma a whore.”

Confusion clouds George’s expression. “What?”

“At the Christmas party you took her to, while you went to get her a drink.”

George straightens in his chair, his eyes hardening. “She told you this?”

“Yeah, after you dropped her off at our place.”

George shuts his eyes for a moment, looking almost pained. “I thought something was off. I thought she was just tired, or worried about you. Christ, why didn’t she tell me?”

Alex shrugs. “She didn’t want to make trouble.”

“Did she think I wouldn’t defend her?” George looks torn between fury and heartbreak.

“I don’t think she wanted to put you in the position to have to make that decision.”

“A political answer if I’ve ever heard one,” George says wryly. “And that’s why Jefferson riled you up so much.”

“Yeah.” Alex looks away, focuses on George’s degrees framed on the wall. He decides it’s best not to bring the bastard comment up, if George didn’t hear it to begin with. “I swear, I didn’t come here just to confront him. Ma made me promise to let it go, I just…”

“I understand,” George says gently. “You protect each other.”

“Yeah.”  

“I can’t fault you for that.”

“It’s just that you invited me here, and you didn’t have to at all, and I’m making an ass of myself in front of your colleagues and you must be regretting this so hard --”

“Alexander,” George interrupts, not unkindly. “I’m not upset. Even if I was, I would get over it.”

“So, I can stay?” What he almost said was, “ _So, you’ll stay?”_ and Alex doesn’t want to dwell on that, swallows with a dry mouth because God, he does not want to deal with that right now.

When he turns back, George is watching him with a sad expression that somehow manages to avoid pity. “Of course you can stay, son. I didn’t mean for you to think otherwise.”

“Okay.” Alex nods sharply, pushes down all the emotion that soft gaze dredges up. “Thank you.”

George’s gaze turns sharp, sliding towards the door. “I have half a mind to go have a talk with Jefferson.”

Alex feels a little thrill race down his spine at the thought of it, but his mother’s voice in his head reigns him in. “As much as I’d like to see that, Ma would be pissed at both of us. Jefferson isn’t worth weathering that when we got home.”

George winces. “You may have a point.”

“We should get back to work.”

George smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Alex can’t shake the feeling that he’s shown his hand somehow, and he’s not sure how to take it back.

“Right. Pull up a chair.”

\---------

They meet Rachel at the door, keys in hand. She smiles tiredly at them both, and Alex feels a twinge of guilt in his chest. Not for the first time, he wonders if he should be working to support them both instead of going to school. She’d smack him upside the head for suggesting it, has in the past, but even if he knows he can do more for her with a college education… it’s hard, to see her so tired.

“Long day?” George asks, reaching out to squeeze her free hand. Alex can’t be sure, but he could almost swear he hears some of his own worry in George’s voice.

“Same as always.” She shrugs, her smile brightening. “Better now that I get to see my two favorite guys.”

“Alex and I were thinking about going out to dinner,” George tells her as she lets them into the house. “What’s your vote?”

Rachel winces. “I’m dead on my feet, sorry boys. You go enjoy yourselves, bring the old lady some takeout.”

“We’re not going without you,” Alex protests, the thought of it sending his heart lurching into his throat for more reasons than one.

“Of course not,” George agrees. “There’s groceries in the fridge, right? I could cook.” He’s already shedding his suit jacket and laying it neatly over a chair, and Alex averts his gaze quickly.

Rachel groans gratefully, squeezing George’s bicep and pecking him on the mouth as he rolls up his sleeves. “I love you so much.”

George chuckles warmly, and Alex braces himself against a surging ache in his chest.

“I’ll help,” he offers, frowning at the identical skeptical looks he receives. “What? I can cook!”

“I think he can be trusted to cut vegetables,” Rachel mutters conspiratorially. “It’s a risk, though.”

“I’ll take my chances,” George says, moving to the fridge.

“I’m underappreciated in this house,” Alex complains.

George bumps his hip into Alex’s on his way over, laughing at Alex’s affronted look. “I trust you, Alex. Don’t worry.”

He looks so different this way, his posture relaxed, his eyes shining. He’s beautiful, and while that isn’t a new realization, it still hurts like a knife between Alex’s ribs. Especially with Rachel smiling fondly at them, the fog of domestic bliss so tangible Alex thinks he might choke on it.

Alex barely catches the bag of carrots George tosses at him, plastic crinkling under his hands as he tightens them around the bag. His chest feels too full, the normalcy overwhelming him for a moment. A light hand on the small of his back startles him.

“Alright, _corazón?_ ” his mother murmurs into his ear, her voice soft and so full of concern. Alex shuts his eyes against the wave of guilt that threatens to drown him where floods and sickness have failed.

Alex stares at George’s back, muscles shifting beneath his dress shirt as he pulls out pans from the tiny, overcrowded cupboards as if he’s lived with them his whole life.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Rachel Faucette technically had two other children, a son with her first husband (with whom by all accounts she was very unhappy) who she left and another son with James. Since none were mentioned in the musical, and I found the dynamic of a mother-son duo against the world intriguing, I used some creative license here. 
> 
> * Rachel uses the Spanish would for heart at the end of this story, a term of endearment. While historical Rachel and Alexander would have been fluent in French, as a nod to LMM playing Alex and immigrant narratives in the modern world, for my purposes the Hamiltons are fluent in French and Spanish both. 
> 
> * I'm on Tumblr at [icarusandtheson](https://icarusandtheson.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
